dk.intensity-第6章

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led　both　his　chest　and　the　toilet　tank；　holding　him　upright。
　Through　the　semitransparent　bands　of　tape；　three　separate　bullet　wounds　were　visible　in　his　chest。　There　might　have　been　more　than　three。　She　didn't　care　to　look　for　them　and　had　no　need　to　know。　He　appeared　to　have　died　instantly；　most　likely　in　his　sleep；　and　to　have　been　dead　before　he　was　brought　into　the　bathroom。
　Grief　welled　in　her；　black　and　cold。　Survival　meant　repressing　it　at　all　costs；　and　surviving　was　the　thing　that　she　did　best。
　A　collar　of　strapping　tape　around　Paul's　neck　became　a　leash　that　tethered　him　to　a　hand…towel　rack　on　the　wall　behind　the　toilet。　The　purpose　was　to　prevent　his　head　from　falling　forward　onto　his　chestand　to　direct　his　dead　gaze　toward　the　shower。　His　eyelids　were　taped　open；　and　in　his　right　eye　was　a　starburst　hemorrhage。
　Shuddering；　Chyna　looked　away　from　him。　Although　the　intruder　had　needed　to　kill　Paul　in　his　sleep　to　establish　control　of　the　house　quickly；　here　he　had　been　fantasizing　that　the　husband　was　being　forced　to　watch　the　atrocities　mitted　against　the　wife。
　This　was　a　classic　tableau；　a　favorite　of　those　sociopaths　who　took　delight　in　performing　for　their　victims。　They　actually　seemed　to　believe　that　for　a　while　the　recently　dead　could　still　see；　still　hear；　and　were　thus　capable　of　admiring　the　bold　antics　and　posing　of　a　tormentor　who　feared　neither　man　nor　God。　Textbooks　described　the　delusion。　In　one　of　her　aberrant…psychology　classes　at　UCSF；　a　speaker　from　the　FBI's　Behavioral　Science　Section　had　given　them　more　graphic　descriptions　of　such　scenes　than　any　textbooks　could　provide。
　Firsthand；　however；　the　impact　of　this　brutality　was　worse　than　words　could　convey。　Almost　paralyzing。　Chyna's　legs　felt　heavy　and　stiff。　The　tingling　in　her　hands　was　incipient　numbness。
　Sarah　Templeton　was　in　the　stall　shower；　which　was　separate　from　the　tub。　Although　the　glass　door　was　closed…and　frosted…Chyna　was　able　to　see　a　faint；　vaguely　pinkish　shape　huddled　on　the　shower　floor。
　On　the　face　of　the　soffit　above　the　glass　door；　the　killer　had　printed　two　words。　The　black　letters　appeared　to　have　been　made　with　multiple　strokes　of　an　eyebrow　pencil：　DIRTY　BITCH。
　Chyna　had　never　wanted　anything　as　much　as　she　wanted　to　be　free　of　the　obligation　to　look　into　this　shower　stall。　Surely　Sarah　could　not　be　alive。
　Yet　if　she　turned　away　without　being　certain　that　the　woman　was　beyond　all　help；　ineradicable　guilt　would　ensure　that　her　own　survival　would　bee　a　kind　of　walking　death。
　Besides；　she　had　mitted　her　life　to　trying　to　understand　this　very　aspect　of　human　cruelty；　and　no　published　case　study　would　ever　bring　her　closer　to　prehension　than　might　the　things　that　she　saw　here。　In　this　house；　on　this　night；　the　bleak　landscape　of　the　sociopathic　mind　had　been　externalized。
　Echoing　off　the　tile　walls；　the　sizzle…splash　of　the　falling　water　sounded　like　the　hissing　of　serpents　and　the　brittle　laughter　of　strange　children。
　The　water　must　be　cold。　Otherwise；　steam　would；have　been　seething　over　the　top　of　the　shower　enclosure。
　Chyna　held　her　breath；　gripped　the　anodized　aluminum　handle；　and　opened　the　stall　door。
　Sarah　Templeton　had　been　wearing　a　pale…green　teddy　and　matching　panties。　Her　garments　were　in　a　sodden　ball　in　one　corner　of　the　shower。
　After　her　husband　had　been　shot；　the　woman　had　evidently　been　hammered　unconscious；　perhaps　with　the　butt　of　the　gun。　Then　she　had　been　gagged；　her　cheeks　bulged　with　whatever　rag　had　been　forced　into　her　mouth。　Strips　of　strapping　tape　had　sealed　her　lips；　but　in　the　relentless　icy　spray；　the　edges　of　the　tape　had　begun　to　peel　away　from　her　skin。
　With　Sarah；　the　killer　had　used　a　knife。　She　was　not　alive。　Chyna　quietly　closed　the　stall　door。　If　there　was　such　a　thing　as　mercy；　then　Sarah　Templeton　had　never　regained　any　awareness　after　being　knocked　unconscious。
　She　remembered　the　hug　that　Sarah　had　given　her　on　the　front　walk　when　she　had　first　arrived　with　Laura。　Repressing　tears；　she　wished　that　she　herself　were　dead　instead　of　the　precious　woman　in　the　shower　stall。　Indeed；　she　was　half　dead　and　less　alive　by　the　minute；　because　a　piece　of　her　heart　died　with　each　of　these　people。
　Chyna　returned　to　the　bedroom。　She　moved　away　from　the　bed　but　didn't　go　immediately　toward　the　hall　door。　Instead；　she　stood　in　the　darkest　corner；　shaking　uncontrollably。
　Her　stomach　rolled。　An　acidic　burning　rose　in　her　chest；　and　a　bitter　taste　filled　the　back　of　her　mouth。　She　suppressed　an　urge　to　vomit。　The　killer　might　hear　her　retching；　and　then　he　would　e　to　get　her。
　Although　she'd　met　Laura's　parents　only　the　previous　afternoon；　Chyna　had　known　them　also　from　her　friend's　numerous　anecdotes　and　colorful　stories　of　family　adventures。　She　should　have　felt　even　more　grief　than　she　did；　but　she　had　only　a　limited　capacity　for　it　right　now。　Later　it　would　hit　her　harder。　Grief　thrived　in　a　quiet　heart；　and　right　now　hers　thundered　with　terror　and　revulsion。
　She　was　shocked　that　the　killer　had　done　so　much　damage　while　she　had　sat；　unknowing；　at　the　guest…room　window；　brooding　on　the　stars　and　thinking　of　other　nights　when　she　had　gazed　at　them　from　rooftops；　backyard　trees；　and　beaches。　From　what　she'd　seen；　he　had　taken　at　least　ten　or　fifteen　minutes　with　Paul　and　Sarah　before　searching　the　rest　of　the　large　house　to　locate　and　overpower　the　remaining　occupants。
　Sometimes　a　man　like　this　got　a　special　thrill　from　risking　interruption；　even　apprehension。　Perhaps　a　half…asleep；　bewildered　child　would　be　drawn　into　the　parents'room　by　some　motion　and　then　would　have　to　be　pursued　and　dragged　down　before　escaping　the　house。　Such　possibilities　heightened　the　pleasure　that　the　creep　took　from　his　activities　in　the　bedroom　and　the　bath。
　This　was　a　pleasure　to　him。　A　pulsion；　but　not　one　over　which　he　despaired。　Fun。　His　recreation。　No　guilt…therefore；　no　anguish。　Savagery　gladdened　him。
　Somewhere　in　the　house；　he　was　either　at　play　or　resting　until　he　was　ready　to　begin　the　game　again。
　As　her　shakes　subsided　to　shivers；　Chyna　grew　increasingly　afraid　for　Laura。　Those　two　muffled　cries；　minutes　ago；　had　surely　e　after　Sarah　was　already　dead；　so　Laura　must　have　been　surprised　in　her　sleep　by　a　man　smelling　of　her　mother's　blood。　As　soon　as　he　had　overpowered　and　secured　her；　he　had　hurried　to　search　the　rest　of　the　second　floor；　concerned　that　another　member　of　the　family　might　have　been　alerted　by　her　stifled　screams。
　He　might　not　have　returned　immediately　to　Laura。　Having　found　no　one　in　any　of　the　other　rooms；　confident　that　the　house　was　firmly　under　his　reign；　he　most　likely　had　gone　exploring。　If　the　textbooks　were　correct；　he　would　probably　wish　to　violate　every　private　space。
　Pore　through　the　contents　of　his　host's　and　hostess's　closets　and　desk　drawers。　Eat　food　from　their　refrigerator。　Read　their　mail。　Perhaps　finger　and　smell　the　soiled　clothing　in　the　laundry…room　hamper。　If　he　could　locate　collections　'of　family　photographs；　he　might　even　sit　in　the　den　for　an　hour　or　longer；　amusing　himself　with　those　albums。
　Sooner　or　later；　however；　he　would　return　to　Laura。　Sarah　Templeton　had　been　an　extremely　attractive　woman；　but　night　visitors　like　this　man　were　drawn　toward　youth；　they　fed　on　innocence。　Laura　was　his　meat　of　choice；　as　irresistible　as　birds'　eggs　to　certain　tree…climbing　serpents。
　When　at　last　Chyna　overcame　her　racking　nausea　and　was　certain　that　she　wouldn't　betray　herself　by　being　suddenly　and　violently　sick；　she　crept　out　of　the　corner　and　silently　crossed　the　room。
　She　wouldn't　have　been　safe　in　the　master　suite　anyway。　Before　the　visitor　left；　he　was　likely　to　return　here　for　one　last　look　at　poor　Sarah　in　the　shower　with　her　slender　arms　crossed　in　a　pathetic　and　ineffective　posture　of　defense。
　At　the　half…open　door；　Chyna　paused　to　listen。　Directly　across　the　hall；　the　faded　roses　on　the　wallpaper　seemed　more　mysterious　than　ever。　The　pattern　had　such　enigmatic　depth　that　she　was　almost　convinced　she　might　be　able　to　part　the　thorny　vines　and　step　out　of　that　paper　arbor　into　a　sunny　realm　where；　when　she　looked　back；　this　house　would　not　exist。
　With　the　light　from　the　nightstand　lamp　behind　her；　she　could　not　ease　cautiously　into　the　doorway　and　take　her　time　peeking　left　and　right；　because　when　she　moved　onto　the　threshold；　she　would　cast　a　shadow　on　those　faded　roses　across　the　hall。　Dawdling　behind　that　unavoidable　announcement　of　herself　would　be　dangerous。
　Seduced　by　a　long　silence　that　seemed　to　promise　safety；　she　finally　sidled　between　the　half…open　door　and　the　jamb；　into　the　hallway　and　he　was　tbere。　Ten　feet　away。　Near　the　head　of　the　front　stairs；　which　lay　to　the　right。　His　back　was　to　her。
　She　froze。　Half　in　the　hallway。　Half　on　the　threshold　to　the　master　suite。　If　he　turned；　she　would　not　be　able　to　slip　away　before　he　glimpsed　her　from　the　corner　of　his　eye…yet　she　was　unable　to　move　now　while　there　was　still　a　chance　to　avoid　him。　She　was　afraid　that　if　she　made　any　sound　whatsoever；　he　would　hear　it　and　spin　toward　her。　Even　the　microwhispers　of　carpet　fibers　pressing　under　her　shoe；　if　she　moved；　seemed　certain　to　draw　his　attention。
　The　visitor　was　doing　something　so　bizarre　that　Chyna　was　as　transfixed　by　his　activity　as　by　her　fear。　His　hands　were　raised　in　front　of　him；　stretched　as　high　as　he　could　reach；　and　his　spread　fingers　languorously　bed　the　air。　He　seemed　to　be　in　a　trance；　as　though　trying　to　seine　psychic　impressions　from　the　ether。
　He　was　a　big　man。　Six　feet　two；　maybe　even　taller。　Muscular。　Narrow　waist；　enormous　shoulders。　His　denim　jacket　stretched　tautly　across　his　broad　back。
　His　hair　was　thick　and　brown；　neady　barbered　against　the　nape　of　his　bull　neck；　but　Chyna　could　not　see　his　face。　She　hoped　never　to　see　it。
　His　seining　fingers；　stained　with　blood；　looked　crushingly　strong。　He　would　be　able　to　choke　the　life　out　of　her　with　a　single…hand　grip。
　〃e　to　me；〃　he　murmured。
　Even　in　a　whisper；　his　rough　voice　had　a　timbre　and　a　power　that　were　magnetic。　〃E　TO　ME。〃
　He　seemed　to　be　speaking　not　to　a　vision　that　only　he　could　see　but　to　Chyna；　as　if　his　senses　were　so　acute　that　he　had　been　able　to　detect　her　merely　from　the　movement　of　the　air　that　she　had　displaced　when　she'd　stepped　soundlessly　through　the　doorway。
　Then　she　saw　the　spider。　It　dangled　from　the　ceiling　on　a　gossamer　filament　a　foot　above　the　killer's　reaching　hands。　〃Please。〃
　As　if　responding　to　the　man's　supplications；　the　spider　spun　out　its　thread；　descending。
　The　killer　stopped　reaching；　tamed　his　hand　palm…up。　〃Little　one；〃　he　breathed。
　Fat　and　black；　the　obedient　spider　reeled　itself　down　into　the　big　open　palm。
　The　killer　brought　his　hand　to　his　mouth　and　tipped　his　head　back　slightly。　He　either　crushed　the　spider　and　ate　it…or　ate　it　alive。
　He　stood　motionless；　savoring。　Finally；　without　looking　back；　he　went　to　the　head　of　the　stairs　on　the　right；　at　the　midpoint　of　the　hallway；　and　descended　spider…quick　and　almost　spider…silent　to　the　first　floor。
　Chyna　shuddered；　stunned　to　be　alive。
　The　house　held　a　drowning　depth　of　stillness　as　a　dam　held　water；　with　tremendous　pent…up　power　and　pressure　on　the　breast。
　When　Chyna　found　the　coura